


Negative Space

by dinbird



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Last of The Jedi Series - Jude Watson
Genre: Gen, M/M, and her presence is basically the whole point, siri's not actually in it but mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 06:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7303222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinbird/pseuds/dinbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at Ferus in the moment of Siri's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negative Space

**Author's Note:**

> With the way Siri and Ferus' relationship is described throughout Last of the Jedi in particular and with the strength of their bond, I don't see how Ferus wouldn't have felt something the moment she died. I wanted to explore that, so here we are.  
> And since Jude Watson confirmed that Ferus and Roan were married all along (!), that's what we're going with for them.

It hits him suddenly and he staggers. It’s not a sharp feeling and he knows that he hasn’t been shot, but it’s clouding, overwhelming, almost – nauseating – and against his better judgment he allows himself to go down on one knee as he takes a deep breath.

The blaster is still in his grip, and he tightens his hold on it, lifts it again and takes aim, fires; one of the many droids advancing on them topples over, but Ferus’ heart is still pounding too hard. His throat is closing up. He’s choking on it – the feeling, the certainty that something is very, very wrong.

More wrong than things already are when you’re at war.

The battle around him is loud in his ears. The blaster bolts sizzling past, the calls, shouts, the shrieking curling metal and the splintering sound when shots hit the cliff walls around them. This canyon is one of many places he’s fought. It suddenly feels like it might be the last.

Sucking in another breath, Ferus forces himself up and makes a dash for the nearest rock formation. Stupid, he thinks, boots pounding the dry ground, stupid, left myself wide open, and he gets to the stone and sinks down against it, still struggling. He activates his comlink, barks into it.

“Raz! What’s happening? Confirm status.”

“Still in good shape, sir – approaching target, one click out.”

Ferus tips his head back against the rock. Takes another breath. His troops are fine. But there’s a rising panic that he can’t ignore in place of the relief.

“Sir?”

“Alright. Okay. Carry on, but keep an eye out. We’re closing in. Be careful.”

“Sir.”

Raz is fine. He’s always trusted Raz, and Raz will lead his clones without any problems, and Ferus really needs to get back in front to lead the rest of his troops, but – Roan.

It has to be Roan.

“Roan, come in.”

Silence. Roan is hurt. Has to be. Dying maybe. Dead.

“Roan. _Roan_. Please –”

Swallowing against the fear he can taste in his mouth, Ferus takes another moment when no answer comes, his head in his hands. He pictures his husband’s face. The warm smile and the haunted eyes. He can’t be gone, he thinks, feeling the pain of the very possibility. Can’t be.

But that’s exactly how wars work. People die. And that’s how this war is going to get won – with a body count that’s far too high and on blood soiled ground. It’s been months already. It’s been too long and it’s been too many sacrifices. Little gain.

Even less so if he doesn’t pull himself together.

Roan is leading a third group towards the droid factory. Was. _Is_. Ferus has to do his part in that.

That clouding, heavy feeling that’s crawling beneath his skin is easing, but that doesn’t actually reassure him. It just makes him feel that something is over. Something is gone.

It’s moments like these that he almost wants to resent his past and his connection to the Force. He doesn’t even access it anymore. His hold on it is wobbly at best, and he’s given up trying. But he still feels it around him. That kind of thing doesn’t ever go away. It’s saved his neck more than once in this war, but this – did he need to know this? Did he need to feel this fear over something he can’t even properly identify?

He grits his teeth in thanks. He gathers himself, he gets to his feet, and he runs. Weaves between rocks and dodges blaster bolts and takes down a few droids with what must be lucky shots because more than they should miss their mark since he’s not thinking clearly, isn’t really there.

He still feels sick.

In his head, he’s replaying how he saw Roan only two hours ago when they clasped each other’s arms and shared a faint smile. Be careful, Ferus had said. Roan had answered, only if you are. It wasn’t actually funny. It was because it had to be.

“Thousand!” he shouts once they’re close to their target, once most droids are down – Thousand is another clone he trusts completely – “whenever you’re ready!” Because he doesn’t trust himself to give a signal, sure he wouldn’t time it right. But Thousand is good. He readies the grenades, quick and confident.

“Bit, Joro, cover him!”

They all know the importance of getting this right. But Ferus’ mind is still straying as he picks off another droid. Third attempt. Sloppy. Stupid. He shoots down one more.

Then a bolt strikes his armour, leaving a scorch mark and an uncomfortable heat behind.

Reality isn’t two hours ago. Reality is even less funny. Reality is empty and violent.

But in reality, they still breach the factory. And that’s when it gets worse.

Being stuck inside a building with droids that outnumber you turns claustrophobic all too quickly. Droids aren’t creative and they have no sense of self-preservation, and that saves many of them, but the sheer numbers make many other soldiers fall.

Ferus sees this happen far more than once. These are his troops, he’s responsible for them, and he can’t protect them. Whatever he’d felt earlier is set aside in the face of this new, too-familiar pain-mixed guilt.

He barks directions. Orders. And they hold their own. The second group makes their move inside only minutes after Ferus’, and together they manage to force the droids back into the center of the facility. The other officer isn’t someone Ferus has worked with before, but she’s highly competent. They fall into a sync that keeps more people safe than not.

The fact that she isn’t Roan is something Ferus has to keep firmly out of mind.

The bombing starts as soon as the actual factory comes into view, because even in this chaos, in the middle of the battle fought right inside it, it’s still running, and it’s too efficient to leave operational. That’s the entire objective, anyway. Just take it out.

It has to work.

Ferus coordinates it as best as he can. The assembly lines and parts are destroyed within minutes. Several of the advancing droids are too. But one miscalculation has the whole structure damaged and debris raining down, durasteel beams groaning beneath the weight of the shifting rock, and one exit is blocked off.

It’s this kind of mistake that can trap and kill you. Ferus’ mouth goes dry, but there’s no hesitation before he falls into action to correct that mistake. He makes sure the remaining exits are guarded. He has Thousand recalibrate the charges he’s carrying. And then they keep going. They can’t do anything but that, even as things threaten to slip out of their control.

Then another explosion rocks the building into its very foundation and minutes later Roan’s troops are barging in through one of the side corridors into the open production space which is littered now with droids and parts and too many bodies, and the fear comes rushing back like a wave. Ferus recognizes Eight’s armour and he makes himself run through the battle towards him, because Eight is Roan’s most trusted clone and if anyone would know …

He’s hit on the back of his arm, but he barely notices, it doesn’t seem to matter, even if he has the presence of mind to move behind a pillar and take cover. He raises a hand, hails Eight who signals back, and Ferus yells the name over the space and noise between them: “Roan?”

Eight’s expression is of course unreadable beneath the helmet, and Ferus doesn’t sense what he’s feeling. Not that he’d been able to even if he’d tried. It didn’t take more than minutes for the Force to leave him again, taking with it that pressing feeling, leaving only Ferus’ own fears and anxiety behind.

The single second it takes for Eight to lift his hand again and gesture behind him takes forever. Ferus is moving before he even realizes it, darts past Eight, hears something about “taking up the rear” and his heart is pounding in his ears, he’s tired, he shifts his blaster to his other hand, and he doesn’t dare hope.

Weaving between the troopers, Ferus keeps going through the corridor, tunnel really, and then in a moment he’s not prepared for at all he almost _collides_ with him.

“Hey –”

Roan lets out a surprised but uncertain laugh, because he laughs often, laughs to cover fear and alarm sometimes, and reaches to steady Ferus by the shoulders, but Ferus takes one look at his face and then throws his arms around his neck in a fierce, breathless hug. The relief – he’s never felt relief like this before and it’s making him tremble – it brings tears to his eyes.

Roan hugs him back, a little more gently. He must feel the suppressed sob in his husband because he makes a soft shushing sound and Ferus loves him for that, for attempting to comfort without knowing what’s wrong. Not that Ferus knows either. But at least it isn’t Roan. Roan’s here. Hugging him.

When he pulls back, Ferus feels Roan move his hand from his back to his neck, just an intimately affectionate touch, and Ferus takes his face in his hands and kisses him. Roan kisses him back. The sounds of the battle only dozens of meters away are a backdrop neither of them wants.

“What was that for?” Roan asks quietly when they part, knowing there’s something here he’s missing, something serious, but they’re both aware that they can’t make this moment last. They’re soldiers. They have to fight. They have to keep risking their lives and right now the thought hurts Ferus more than ever.

He smiles faintly and runs a hand over his face, trying to will his vision clear from the persistent blur. “Being alive. I thought …” and the smile is instantly gone. He presses the heel of his hand against one of his eyes. “Something’s happened”, he says after a moment, knowing Roan won’t understand. “I felt it.”

But Roan doesn’t need to understand. He kisses him again, slowly. Somehow, despite everything around them, he manages to make it completely private between them. Ferus loves him. He feels it so clearly right then, all the love he has for this man.

“We’ll work it out when we’re done here”, Roan promises, locking eyes with Ferus and centering him so efficiently. Ferus nods. They take hold of each other’s arms. Roan squeezes lightly and Ferus feels the pain where the bolt hit him.

Then they go back into the fray where they’re separated once again.

It feels like it never ends, but Ferus learned a long time ago that that will never go away, no matter the battle. He disconnects from everything but the objective after a while, or at least tries to – it’s not easy and it never will be, but he keeps his focus now, leads his troops the way an officer should.

They manage. The droids are destroyed. And once the identichips are recovered from those who died there, they make sure the factory is rubble.

The tally isn’t good. Calling it a _tally_ doesn’t help, either. But the battle is won and that’s supposed to help with the losses. And it does. Barely.

Ferus submits his report at the bridge, accepts the “good work” that he hardly feels like he’s earned, and then he makes himself scarce. There’s blood and dust and oil all over him. He needs it gone the same way he needs his mind on a leash.

What’s worse – having your worst fears confirmed or _nothing_ confirmed? He doesn’t want to think about what he’d done if it had been Roan, so instead he’s thinking too much about what he doesn’t know: what it was he felt. What it meant.

It wasn’t a warning. The pain was real, lodged deep in his chest, and it had lingered like it was reluctant to leave him. For obvious reasons he can’t feel grateful for that kind of sudden connection. It only makes him more concerned and worried and on edge, even more so because there’s something familiar about it. For a moment he considers reaching out into the Force to find an answer but he dismisses the idea because he knows it won’t work. The Force isn’t under his command anymore and he doesn’t understand it, no longer speaks that language.

Instead he painfully shrugs on a clean jacket. Fights the urge to play something, because his vioflute is left back home. He’s not due home for another five weeks but he wants nothing more than to go back. Bellassa has no war fought on its surface. It’s not like he can ever trick himself into thinking they’re not at war when he’s home, but it still feels better than being surrounded by it.

Roan makes him feel better, too. And he always seems to know when he’s needed. Ferus hears the familiar knock and makes an “mm” sound, and his husband steps into his quarters, giving him a quick smile.

“The Captain is starting to think you don’t like her anymore.”

Ferus smiles back, but he hears the concern clearly. “I can’t exactly tell her it’s Force stuff. She’s a skeptic.”

Roan’s expression softens and he sits down by Ferus’ desk, backwards in the chair, arms folded over the back of it. “I thought it was something like that. How are you feeling?”

There’s a moment as Ferus considers what to say, but then he just shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure. Something’s … happened. Somewhere. Someone must have been hurt.”

“I thought you didn’t have it anymore.”

“Yeah”, Ferus says, hearing how tired he sounds, “me neither.”

They sit in silence for a little while. It’s a welcome one. People talk about the calm before the storm, but there’s always a calm following it too. Roan and Ferus don’t need to speak to be communicating anyway, and they draw strength from each other’s presence. They’re both still there.

But there’s still the nagging sense that someone isn’t.

It’s Roan who asks the right question. “Why did you think it was me?” He looks troubled, but not for his own sake. A little curious. Mostly, he looks as worn out as Ferus feels.

“Because you’re important to me.” It’s easily said and doesn’t need a response. But Ferus still pauses before he elaborates. “It wasn’t a warning – it was an impression. Strong feelings can do that. And you can pick up on it if you have …”

Time slows.

It’s as if his heart stops and then starts beating rapidly again.

Swallowing, Ferus stands, and he feels Roan’s eyes on him when he does too. “What’s wrong?”

“Siri”, Ferus says, glancing at him, but his attention is nowhere near his husband or his quarters or even the warship when he almost dashes out of there, into the corridor, and walks quickly back towards the bridge. He’s not even there. His mind is replaying the sensation, over and over.

The back, he thinks. The spine.

Captain Elyn looks up at him when he comes up to her, all confused concern, but Ferus isn’t sure he’s feeling anything at all. His voice is empty when he speaks. “I need a status report on General Tachi.”

She frowns at him – not unkindly, but far from understanding. “She’s not affiliated with this battle group, Lieutenant. And even if she was that information is above your paygrade.”

Administrations. Official channels. It doesn’t _matter_. None of this matters. “I realize that. I’m asking as a favour, Captain. Please.”

“Why?”

He struggles. “Something’s happened to her”, he says, and saying it makes it more real. His mind is so loud. He barely registers Roan coming up next to him, lightly touching his arm. “I – knew her, once. I need to make sure.”

Elyn looks at him. Looks at Roan, who must have indicated something or other, because she purses her lips in some gesture Ferus can’t really read even though his eyes never leave her face, and she looks back at him again. “That’s not up to me”, she says. Ferus doesn’t answer. The moment stretches and then her gaze wavers slightly, and she says, “I’ll see what I can do. Wait.”

Ferus has never asked her for anything before. He has good instincts. That must be why she yields. But these facts are irrelevant – what matters are the ones he’s yet to have confirmed. He doesn’t think he could get them himself, the security is very tight in the GAR networks, exactly like it should be, but he knows that if Elyn can’t help him, he’ll still try.

He paces. Back and forth, the same stretch of meters, unable to relax. His body feels numb, his heart heavy. He’s trying not to think but he is, is replaying the hurt he felt from so far away, is wondering how and who and at the same time trying to tell himself that it can’t be. His Force connection is unreliable. He could be wrong.

Roan stands quietly watching him. Ferus knows he must be worried, but he acknowledges this in a distant sort of way. Part of him understands that he’s likely in shock but as that presents no answers for how to handle the certainty that clouds him he simply ignores it.

He can hear Elyn talking to people. Pausing. Waiting. Talking to others. He’s not listening, but he can tell Roan is. A handful of people have stopped to see what is happening, and Ferus recognizes that he’s not exactly exuding the collected confidence that he should be to any of his troops, should they spot him now, but that doesn’t matter either.

The wait can’t be more than minutes, but he’s coiled tight by the time Elyn comes up to him.

He stops and looks at her. The look on her face tells him everything he needs to know, that mix of cautioned empathy and regret.

“You were right”, she says. Ferus swallows. “General Tachi was fatally injured a few hours ago on Azure.”

He nods. He doesn’t move.

Captain Elyn glances at Roan and then after a searching look at Ferus’ face simply gives him a small nod and returns to whatever she was working on first, some holochart, maybe. Roan takes her place as he steps in front of Ferus and locks eyes with him. Ferus’ vision blurs as Roan grabs hold of his arms in their gesture and presses gently, centering him the way he always does, and Ferus holds onto Roan hard in turn.

When Roan simply kisses his hair instead of saying anything and pulls Ferus into a hug, Ferus closes his eyes. Forces back a sob. He winds his arms around his husband and leans heavily on him in the embrace, trying to focus on the strength he can find in Roan instead of the empty space left in the Force where Siri Tachi should be.


End file.
